


in the eye of the beholder

by konoyo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Callboy Connor, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo
Summary: Hank is lonely, Connor has grad school to pay for but things sometimes work out for the best in ways you don't expect.Specifically by hanging out with people and rolling dice and telling stories.





	1. meetcute

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as shooting the shit with some friends and now it's a fic where everyone plays dnd and nothing hurts.

It's a Sunday night and Hank has done nothing with his weekend. It's a pity, since the weather has been particularly nice, not too hot or too humid. Or at least that's as much as he could tell when he opened the door to let Sumo out into the backyard, because Hank has taken advantage of that in no way at all except for browse the internet for hours on end. He feels like he has plans he's forgetting but he usually feels that way and he rarely ever has plans. It's already getting dark out, Sunday is ending. God, now he feels like a failure. He could have at least cleaned a little or something. His roomba needs all the help it can get.

But instead of acting on his better instincts and throwing away the empty pizza box from Friday night, Hank pulls up a webpage he's been eyeing for weeks now. It's a companionship service, or, it's trying to be a companionship service but by the photos and language it's really just a collection of callboys, girls and otherwise. Hank had to confirm that he was over eighteen before being let on to the landing page. Eighteen. Hank is forty three and he feels it, he all but embodies that pervy old man looking at cute young things on the internet. Some of the people in these photos don't even look eighteen. Jesus.

He skips over those. You can't always see faces in the photos but one profile manages to catch his eye anyway. The photos are artfully shot from the nose downward, the man in the photo having at least some smile lines around his mouth. It makes Hank feel better. Otherwise, he looks skinny and his hair is short and dark in a photo that includes some of the back of his neck. There's also a bookcase slightly out of focus in the background and Hank thinks he spies a copy of a Player's Handbook for Dungeons and Dragons. Cute. Hank finds himself wondering what he looks like now. There's a little green circle next to available as well... It can't hurt, can it? Hank's not an asshole and people need money so...

He shakes his head then clicks the button, already digging around for his credit card.

By the time the doorbell rings, Hank has thought about canceling the request three times and changing his mind just as he's about to click the red button. God this is ridiculous. Is he really that lonely? He has friends. He does. They have biweekly DnD nights. Sure it's just his old college buddy and coworker but it's not that bad. He's not a complete loser.

He tells himself that as he uselessly tries to push his hair back from his forehead, trudging towards the front door. "Sumo, stay back." They can always just talk, right?

"Hey, I- Tina?" Hank blinks. His coworker was not someone he was expecting at his door at this hour. Was he forgetting something after all?

"Sup, Anderson. Am I first? I bought brownies." Hank automatically lets her in, still reeling a little. "Hello, Sumo. How have you been you big dog, you?"

Sumo boofs and thumps his tail. Oh, no. Now he remembers. It's DnD night, isn't it? He shuts the door, quickly going to shut his laptop before Tina can see what he's been up to. Thank god for Sumo, who's slobbering all over her hands. Shit, now he can't cancel that request, can he? It's probably too late anyway. He'll just have to be extra attentive to the door.

Carl is second to arrive, wheeling himself in with a whole pizza in his lap. God bless Carl. You could always rely on him for pizza and it was always the good stuff, too. The only one besides his protege who made a killing as an artist, as far as Hank knows. The guy was always talented, Hank could tell even when he'd been the drunk peanut gallery as his roommate studiously put brush to canvas.

Then there's Elijah Kamski. He honks obnoxiously as he pulls into the driveway. Hank doesn't know much about him besides the fact that he's self absorbed and rich because he had a hand in perfecting self driving cars and that he knows Carl in some fashion. Carl could have picked him up from the side of the highway for all Hank knows. And Kamski always vapes. "You'd better turn that off before you come in here," Hank calls out his door to the conspicuously billowing cloud stepping out of the fancy car in his driveway. At least he always brings expensive alcohol. Small mercies.

This is comfortable, at least, and Hank can almost forget about his impending embarrassment in front of the only people he routinely hangs out with. Perhaps that website was just a scam for money. That would actually be great, at this point.

"Markus isn't coming tonight," Carl is telling Tina as Hank lets Kamski in.

"What, again? It's no fun with just three people. And no offense, Hank, you're a decent DM but-"

The doorbell rings just as Hank is about to tell them that they don't have to play, though the thought of just hanging out with Elijah Kamski doesn't strike him as particularly appealing. When he opens it, it takes everything he has for his jaw not to hit the floor.

The first word that comes to mind is still soft, just like the photos, despite the fact that the man in the doorway is wearing his hair slicked sharply back and a deep black vneck that shows off his collar and the planes of his chest. He's almost as tall as Hank is which is both surprising and very attractive. His eyes are dark brown and playfully turned up at the outer corners, something that gives his worried expression an element of cuteness Hank doesn't know how to deal with. He's looking over Hank's shoulder into the room full of people. Oh god, this looks fucking terrible, doesn't it?

Hank lets himself outside and shuts the door behind him.

"Hi. Look. Sorry, I forgot I had plans today when I, uh, you know, sent the message, uh..." he gestures helplessly, since he doesn't know the man's name.

"It's Connor. So you're saying you didn't invite me to a gangbang?"

Hank runs a hand down his beet red face. He doesn't even want to picture it. "No, fuck, Connor, no, I'm so sorry-"

"Because you have to warn people before-"

"It's not that! It's just. We're just- I forgot it was DnD night and-"

"Hey, Hank, is that our new DM?" Tina's voice comes muffled through the door.

Connor's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. Hank wants to disappear from this earth, just evaporate and never be seen again.

"Huh," Connor says and Hank finally looks down to see that Connor is on his phone, probably calling himself a cab.

"I can pay for that if you need to, and the rest of the money, I'm sorry for wasting your time-" Hank starts.

"I've had weirder. If you need a DM, I've got a couple of one shots I have saved on my drive I can run." He's showing Hank the screen of his phone, which displays a google drive with several PDFs organized by level and with short descriptions of each. "I'll need your wifi though, for the stats."

Hank feels dizzy. This isn't the way he thought this was going to go.

"What are you guys gossipping about out there?" Tina's voice asks.

"Yeah, sure, if you want, the password is sumoisagooddog, one word, no caps," Hank says because it's the path of least resistance at this point and opens the door, not even feeling bad for almost clocking Tina in the face.

"Oh, he's cute," is the first thing Tina says because of course she does. "First Carl, now you. Where do you two find all this young blood and where can I get some? I'm Tina," she continues, offering Connor a hand. "I play an elven rogue."

"Connor." Connor shakes her hand and Hank makes his break for the counter with Kamski's nice whiskey on it, mostly so he doesn't have to be present for this.

"Nice to meet you, Connor, I'm Carl," Carl says behind him as Hank knocks one back. "Tiefling bard."

"Elijah. Human fighter. Looking forward to see what you can do."

Hank finally grabs a slice of pizza and turns to the table. Connor has already made himself right at home behind the DM screen Hank had put up, several holo displays floating against the cardboard. God, he was prepared. What were the chances?

"Hank?" Hank startles to hear Connor say his name. "You never told me what you play."

"Oh." Right. God bless this man for implying the first time they talked was not just now on the other side of Hank's front door. "I'm a, I play a dwarf warlock. We're all level six, like I, uh, told you."

"Thank you," Connor says with a nod, taking notes. "Perfect. Then we can start."

It's honestly surprising how easy this all is. Perhaps because they'll all currently pretending to be someone else but Connor fits into the picture with remarkable ease. And he's good. Some of the setting descriptions he reads from his notes but most of the time he's looking at everyone as he talks, not missing a beat to think about it like Hank would do, or backtrack when he made a mistake. Connor didn't seem to make mistakes or be at all taken aback by the group's antics. Either he is good at improvising or he somehow managed to read the dynamic of their characters as soon as he had walked into the room. And Hank knows how impressive that is. Kamski's Gavin is one of those characters that will fight anything that looks like it'll put up a good fight and he's derailed the game enough times by getting arrested that the party expects it at this point and Markus had started writing fight clubs for every town they ended up in. Hank thinks Kamski just likes rolling dice.

By the time Tina strikes the killing blow on the illithid leader, Hank has forgotten any awkwardness, the whole table erupting in cheers as Connor describes the creatures that it had in its thrall turning and running from the dungeon even before the body of the villain hit the floor. It's honestly one of the best evenings Hank has had in awhile.

"So, how did Hank end up dragging you into this?" Carl asks Connor as they're packing up.

"Oh, it was... an accident. We met while I was... Looking for work."

Hank wants to sink through the floor again.

"Oh and what do you do?"

"Well, I'm trying to support myself while I get my Master's degree in English," Connor says breezily. God, this is ridiculous, that Connor has to stand there and dance around the subject for him.

"We met on the internet. It was all very illicit," Hank says because the best lies are the truth and that draws a laugh out of the group. "See you guys in two weeks. Connor, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Connor hesitates but nods, stuffing his phone in his pocket and nodding a little as the rest say their goodbyes.

"Will we see you next session?" Tina asks, shouldering her backpack.

"I'm... Not sure."

"Well, it was great. You should come and play sometime, too, not just lead the session. Just so it's no pressure. Right Hank?"

"Uh, yeah," Hank says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I'm taking the rest of these brownies!" Kamski calls from the kitchen, distracting Tina enough that Hank can turn back towards Connor.

"I'm still really sorry about all this," he says, feeling like a skipping record.

"It's fine," Connor says. "Though you should keep a better calendar."

"Yeah, uh, well... You really don't have to come back if you don't want to, but I'd be lying if I said we didn't want you back. Though you probably have your own group to play with..."

Connor looks at him, the expression strangely blank.

"Seriously though, I'm too embarrassed to contact you ever again... If you don't want me to, that is." Connor is cute and Hank has no self control.

Connor sighs, chews on his lip and looks around. Everyone is mostly gone at this point and Hank is standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room with him while Sumo snores loudly in the corner. He sighs and reaches for his phone. "Yeah, alright, I don't usually do this but I know your wifi password so I guess we should be even. Here's my phone number. No booty calls, you've made it too weird."

Hank scrambles to take out his own phone, almost dropping it in his hurry before managing to take Connor's number down. His heart is beating double time, despite the fact that Connor just explicitly said he wasn't going to have sex with him. Hank probably deserves that, anyway.

"We have a group chat going, mostly for scheduling stuff, do you mind if I add you in there?"

"No, that's fine."

"Ok." Hank does just that, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. "And thank you for covering for me today."

"It happens more often than you think." And doesn't that just feel uncomfortable to hear.

"Yeah, well. You didn't have to."

Connor nods, then gives Hank's arm a pat as he turns to leave. "See you in two weeks."

"Uh. Yeah. See you," Hank says, then bangs his head on the door in frustration after he shuts it behind Connor. This was not going to end well.

...

Connor is... Well, he has to admit he's pleased. It wasn't the evening he was expecting to have when he answered the website request but... His phone pings in the darkness of the cab to show that the rest of the money has been delivered. He scoffs and rolls his eyes to no one.

 _I should have said: you don't owe me anything,_ he texts Hank, feeling vaguely annoyed. It's not that he doesn't need the money, the money is why he has this gig in the first place. And it's not a bad one, as far as he could tell, mostly lonely people who want a good lay or he's even gotten some who want to just talk. Sometimes both. The way the app works, he has some time to do some internet sleuthing before he accepts a call.

He can't say which category Hank Anderson would fall into. And now he doesn't want to know.

_yeah but you can use it right? Finish that english degree and eveything_

Connor sighs. _You know what, I'm not going to argue. But this isn't happening again._

_yeah of cuourse  
_ _*course_

_As long as we never talk about this again._

_that's gine  
_ _*fine_

_You're drunk. Go to sleep._

_yeah okay  
_ _sorry again  
_ _have a nice week  
_ _two weeks_

Connor sighed again and put his phone down, letting his head fall back against the headrest. At least he would have the cash to pay for this semester and then one more. Between this, the dog walking, the sparse amount of freelance work he'd managed to net, perhaps he'll even have the money for groceries. That wasn't too bad. Then another, oh, three semesters and he'll have enough credits to graduate.

Fuck.

He'll be as old as Hank when he finally gets the damn piece of paper.

That's a mean thought and he knows it, then slumps down in his seat. At least three semesters is only another year. That's not too bad. He can do this. And he needs a little treat for himself and if this random DnD group twice a week is that treat, well, so be it. Sunday nights are slow anyway.

And Hank doesn't look that bad for his age. There's a definitely a silver fox sort of thing going on, much better in person than the photos Connor found on social media, which are mostly other people's unflattering office photos. He's looking forward to it, he realizes and straightens a little, smiling. Yeah. It'll be fun.


	2. rapport

Markus is actually available to DM by the time the next weekend rolls around and Hank spends the day feeling concerned. He wants Connor to come, of course, useless denying that, and Connor said he would but... What if he likes DMing more than playing? What if he doesn't like the way Markus DMs?

He knows Markus asked for a character sheet from Connor in the group chat but that then descended into silence. Perhaps they're hashing it out in a private chat or maybe Connor's ignoring the messages.

Hank is hopeless. He takes Sumo for a jog instead of thinking about it, a rare occurrence. It works pretty well because he's out of breath and sweaty by the time he falls into the front door, with not enough energy to think of anything except not being upright anymore.

That's how he wastes that Sunday but at least he's freshly showered and cleanly dressed by the time his doorbell rings.

It's Connor. Hank tries to be cool. "Hey," he says, as people who are cool do. Connor is dressed differently than he had been the other night. There's a loose curl tumbling over one side of his forehead, neck framed by the collar of a white button up which opens just a little down from his throat and that's somehow sexier than the vneck. There's a little mole on the side of his cheek that Hank hadn't noticed before, then another one on his forehead. Hank is not cool. He's not cool at all. Connor awkwardly gestures to a tote with what looks like a bag of chips under his arm.

"Hello. I hope this is okay."

"Oh, don't worry about it, you don't have to bring anything," Hank says, finally stepping out of the doorway to let Connor through into his house.

"There's also salsa," Connor says, the bag of chips crumpling as he takes it out of the tote, attracting Sumo's undivided attention even though it is not, in fact, cheese.

"You didn't have to," Hank repeats.

Connor shrugs at him. "I would have brought something nicer if I could," he says, by way of explanation.

And Hank supposes that's Connor trying to reassure him. He nods and doesn't take it for granted, instead going to fetch a bowl for the salsa because they aren't animals, leaving it with Connor so he can go answer the door again.

Markus is second to show up and he and Connor immediately huddle over a screen, discussing something in hushed tones about Connor's character sheet. So that went well, Hank assumes, leaving them to it and going to give Sumo his food so he doesn't slobber all over the game night snacks. Or will slobber less, at any rate.

Eventually, they've all gathered around the table. "Cut the suspense," Kamski says, drumming his fingers on the table. "Tell us who you're playing, Connor. And please don't say a cleric."

Connor gives him what Hank can only describe as a judgemental look. "Not a cleric. I'm playing RoboCop from the future," Connor says, straight faced as anything which makes the confused silence and slow bubbling over of laughter all the more hilarious. Hank wipes a tear from his eye and looks up to see a quirk of a smile at the corner of Connor's mouth, like he's holding it in. "I'm not kidding," he says as everyone starts to settle and more laughter follows.

"We decided he would be a warforged artificer," Markus says, down to business. "Tossed in a little flavor and his tech shouldn't be indistinguishable from magic."

"Hello, my name is RK900," Connor says, a blank affect to his voice and they're all losing it again.

"Gavin is going to call you Nines, sorry," Elijah humms, putting down a note on his sheet.

"How did we find you?" Carl asks, still looking a little red in the face from all the laughter.

Connor looks thoughtful for just a moment before: "As you're leaving the Underdark, you hear a voice asking for help from inside one of the walls. His time machine malfunctioned and embedded him in the rock so you have to dig him out."

"So what's the future like, Nines?" Tina asks, grinning.

Connor looks at her, even his expression is blank. "I am not authorized to tell you that," he says, then before she expresses disappointment: "but as you can tell from looking at me, it's going to be pretty fucking badass."

...

The game wraps up pretty late that night and Hank is just drunk enough to consider asking Connor out. Sure, it's weird, but it's weirder if Hank keeps trying and failing not to admire Connor across the table. And a final rejection would help him get over it, right? _And_ he's drunk enough to handle it well. It's not a bad idea, all told. At least not right now when he's feeling very pleasantly buzzed.

But Connor is very efficient in packing his things up and Hank is worried that he won't get a chance to speak with him before he leaves. Then again, there's no reason he can't just ask right here, right now, while everyone's talking.

"Hey, Connor," Hank says and it comes out just loud enough to catch the rest of the group's attention.

"Yes, Hank?" Connor asks, looking up from his phone for a moment.

There's a dramatic pause and Hank deliberates. It's not that everyone is looking at him but everyone is certainly listening to him and he's already feeling the back of his neck heat up. There's not enough alcohol in him to help go through with this.

"What is your schedule looking like for next session?"

Connor ponders this safe alternative to Hank's real question for a moment before turning to Markus. "Will you still be running the game next time?"

"I have a gallery opening next weekend but I should be good for the weekend after that."

"Do you think I could bring a couple of friends?"

Connor and Markus descend into another hushed conversation that Hank can't hear over Elijah telling Carl and Tina about a cute girl he saw at work and how she definitely wouldn't like him if she knew he played DnD.

Carl eventually heards him out and Tina follows. Markus is picked up by some yelling friend who calls him a nerd, Hank can only assume affectionately. Connor lingers, even though he's already packed up. Hank's dumb drunk brain wonders if Connor's going to ask him out instead.

"I wanted to ask if you would be okay if my friends brought their daughter to stay here while we play next time," Connor says because it's been a while since Hank's drunk brain was right about anything. "She's six and they've been struggling to find a babysitter lately. She's really quiet and mature and not scared of large dogs. I asked."

"Uh," Hank says eloquently, scratching his beard. "Yeah, of course, that's fine. I like kids," he continued, playing a little catch up. "Who are these people? Just out of curiosity."

"My superintendent and his wife."

"Oh. You're friends with your super?"

Connor nods.

"Oh... Yeah, it's totally fine. Thanks for asking."

"Of course. See you next time, Hank," Connor says and turns to leave.

"Ah-! Oh, Connor?" It's now or never as Connor turns back to look at him. "Do you... Do you think you have some free time during the next two weeks? You know, for coffee? With me? My treat."

Connor gives him a look that Hank can't read for several excruciatingly long seconds. "Oh. You're serious? Hank..." He makes a face that Hank knows means rejection. Fuck. Well, at least he'll be over it. "I'm usually very busy during the day, and I don't want you to pay for drinks. Perhaps dinner? Nowhere fancy, and we split the check."

Hank blinks, then blinks again. "Yeah, that's fine. You can pick the place if that makes you more comfortable."

"Okay. I'll text you. I'm free the upcoming Wednesday night, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah. That's fine," Hank says. He's still partially in shock.

"Alright. See you then. Bye, Sumo," Connor says and is out the door.

When the text comes, fifteen minutes later, Hank still can't quite bring himself to believe it. He hits the hotlinked address as he sits down heavily on his couch. Connor has picked an Albanian place that Hank hadn't even known existed and whose menu is not available online. He googles Albanian food in a desperate attempt to not make a fool of himself when it comes to ordering. But all he will ever remember the definition for is goulash. God. He was hoping for Chinese. At least he can understand the english portion of the menu there.

He's going to make a fool of himself, isn't he?

...

"Hi, Hank," Connor says, slinging his bag over the back of his chair. He's five minutes early (as he usually is) but Hank is already seated at a table for two in the bustling little cafe.

"Hi, Connor. It's good to see you again," Hank says and smiles and Connor is little less nervous.

"I hope I don't disappoint." It's so hard to know what to expect. Sure, it's been over a month now and he's used to Hank and unpunctuated texts, his deep rumbling laugh and crows feet and long hair that he likes to put up in a ponytail. But Connor is so boring. He's been defined by the jobs he has, for better or for worse. He's barely had time to read or do anything but work for the past several years. He's a thirty year old man still in college.

"Oh, no, this is already very exciting," Hank says. "I don't understand anything on this menu so I'll need your help in choosing."

"Oh," Connor says. "Yeah, sure. Would you like meat or fish or vegetarian?"

So the first part of their date is taken up by ordering. That's not so bad as far as icebreakers, Connor supposes, because he needs an icebreaker with Hank, because he doesn't even know where to start. Why did Hank contact Connor that first time? Seems kind of personal. But it matters, doesn't it?

The server takes their menus and Connor takes a deep breath. "So what do you do? I don't think it ever came up."

"I'm a forensic analyst," Hank says, smiling a little. "So is Tina, she works with me. I wanted to be a cop once but it didn't really work out."

"Oh. That's interesting."

"Yeah, they don't take people who are colorblind, apparently."

"Oh."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised how many jobs being colorblind disqualifies you from. And how annoying it is to be friends with artists."

"Like Carl?"

"Yeah, we were roommates in college, if you can imagine. What about you? You said you're studying English, right?"

Connor nods. "I would like to be a writer and also teach writing and literature."

"That's why you need a masters?"

Connor nods again, finally deciding he should vocalize the question or else it'll just be too weird from here on out.

"Can I ask... Why did you contact me?"

Hank flushes pink in embarrassment, a feature which is incredibly charming somehow. "You want to talk about that, huh?"

"Yes. You seem to be very embarrassed by it."

"Yeah, I am, thanks for noticing."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not lonely enough to be doing it? Because if it weren't for the form you probably wouldn't have given me the time of day? I mean look at you-" Hank makes a dramatic hand gesture. "And then look at me."

"I agreed to this date, didn't I?" Connor _is_ looking at Hank and if there was something Hank wants to say on the subject of his body, Connor isn't buying it.

"Yeah, and I'm hoping it's not because you just wanted to pity me."

Connor frowns at that. "I don't pity you. I would go so far as to say I find you attractive." Hank's eyes go round. Connor offers him a reassuring smile. "Even in your loud shirt."

"Oh. Okay. Uh," Hank fidgets with the abstract patterned fabric and blushes again, which is adorable. "So can you tell me about yourself?" The question Connor has been dreading. If the color rises in Connor's face, Hank doesn't seem to notice. "Like... How long have you been playing Dungeons and Dragons? How did you start, why don't you have anyone to play with anymore?"

Those, at least, are specific questions, and Connor relaxes a little. Their dinner is served and Connor tells him about going to college in Pennsylvania, earning a degree he didn't want. He had friends there, and family, even money, which he doesn't say, but then he went to the only college that would give him a scholarship and let him attend classes at his own pace, doing what he really wanted. After that, it was hard to keep in contact (and he was disowned, which again, he does not mention). And maybe Hank can tell he's still holding back a little but he doesn't push, just asks about something else.

It takes Connor fifteen minutes to realize he's been talking about himself, directed by Hank's questions in a way that doesn't feel uncomfortable or prying, just like genuine interest. It's both flattering and incredibly embarrassing. Hank would have made a good cop, he surmises.

So he asks about the DnD group, how Hank knows them. Hank seems to have less than a flattering opinion of Kamski, which is amusing considering he still chooses to spend around four hours every other week around him. The whiskey isn't good enough for that.

"How do you not know how they know each other, Hank?" he accuses when Hank says that Carl just showed up with Kamski in tow one day.

"I mean, I have theories that have never been confirmed. Maybe he's a client? Carl does portraits sometimes but usually those are old money and in their fifties. Not newly rich thirty somethings. But he's a good player so, honestly, I can't really complain."

Connor sighs but accepts this, mentally double checking the list of things he wanted to find out about Hank. He's idly curious about many things, from the types of movies Hank watches to whether Hank has ever been to Pennsylvania, whether he should be worried that Hank may know his adoptive mother somehow... But he settles on the first one.

The rest of the date passes pleasantly. They discuss movies (Hank really likes bad ones and now Connor wants to see one with Hank because the way he describes it has Connor in helpless stitches) and basketball and Sumo. Connor's plate is empty before he knows it and Hank dutifully splits the check between them, just as promised.

It's been a while that Connor has enjoyed himself beyond work and school. He's eager for this to continue. As they step out of the restaurant, it has started to drizzle, lighthearted and airy, the colors of sunset still burning reds and purples into the sky.

"We should do this again sometime," Connor says, shouldering his backpack.

"Yeah. Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Oh, I live right around the block."

"Then I can walk you. If you want."

Connor nods and they fall into step on the sidewalk. It's not a long walk at all and soon enough they reach the gate into the building and Connor pauses, turning to face Hank. "This is me."

Hank hesitates for a second, clearly going to say something. "So," he starts. "Is it okay if I, you know... Can I kiss you? It's not overly romantic of me, is it?"

Connor laughs a little, unable to help himself. "Yes. You may."

There's a moment where Hank steps a little further forward and catches his hand that stretches what seems like forever. He feels like he's in high school and he hasn't done this before and he has thousands of swirling doubts.

But Hank's beard is ticklish against his chin and his lips are soft and warm as they brush, chaste, and gentle. Hank smells like citrus and aftershave and the spice of the restaurant they had just exited. Connor's eyes slide closed but he doesn't deepen it and Hank doesn't push.

"Okay," Hank says when they part, a little pink in the face.

"I'll see you next week," Connor says, letting go of Hank's hand.

"Yup," Hank says but doesn't turn away so it's up to Connor to turn and open the gate. He gives Hank a little wave over his shoulder before closing the gate behind him, finally out of view where he can breathe out a breath he'd been holding.

He could just invite Hank up, they'd have sex and then probably be done with it, crashing headlong into a relationship that would be over in at most a year, a flash in the pan, just like the rest. It would be convenient and familiar.

Connor slowly makes his way up the stairs to his apartment, staring at the lock before fishing out his keys and unlocking it. But they're not going to do that, are they? And if it continues going well, _if_ it continues to go well, he'll probably have to find a new gig that can support him and his schooling and schedule...

"Fuck," Connor says, the word echoing in the empty apartment, and closes the door with a bang.


End file.
